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Nervous anticipation coursed through Ellen as she went through her morning bathroom routine. Erotic humiliation. Just the words gave her an edgy thrill.
As she showered, Ellen thought about Lia, who had been one of the trainees who started The Enclave slave training program at the same time as Ellen. Lia had claimed to want to find her inner submissive, but she’d struggled every step of the way. She’d been in trouble a lot and nearly always in some kind of disgrace. Master Lawrence, The Enclave’s primary disciplinarian, had punished her in various ways.
One of the harshest punishments, in Ellen’s estimation, had been when he had forced her to wear a pig nose mask on her face and a butt plug with a curly pig’s tail protruding from it. Master Mason had served spaghetti and meatballs that night. During dinner, Master Lawrence made Lia remain on her hands and knees by his chair. He put a bowl of the sauce-laden pasta on the floor beside her and forced her to eat it without the use of her hands.
After dinner, he made her crawl to the living room, her face and pig mask still covered in spaghetti sauce. There, he forced her to race around the room on all fours, squealing like a pig as he repeatedly swatted her with a rolled-up newspaper.
Surely that sort of thing wasn’t what Master Damon had in mind? There had been nothing erotic in that kind of humiliation, at least not in Ellen’s estimation.
She already had some idea of what to expect, or she hoped she did. She couldn’t deny the dark arousal she’d experienced when Master Damon had called her a dirty little slut and a cunt. Even while a part of her had protested, she’d found it thrilling in an edgy sort of way.
But she was pretty sure whatever he had in mind for her today would go further than just a whisper to her inner dirty girl. A lot further. Would Master Damon help her connect with that part of her erotic hardwiring that had always secretly lurked inside her? Would she be able to handle it if he did?
Skin smooth, hair washed and blown out, a touch of makeup, and she was ready to present herself. Her stomach rumbled at the aromas of fresh coffee and frying bacon that met her as she came out of the bathroom.
In the living room, Master Damon was on his laptop. A fire was blazing merrily in the hearth. He looked up and set the laptop aside.
“Come here and stand on the rug at attention, hands behind your head.”
Ellen obeyed, butterflies fluttering in her belly.
Master Damon rose to his feet and approached her. He ran his fingers along her underarms. She willed herself not to giggle at his tickling touch. He smoothed his hands down her sides and then cupped her sex. Her clit instantly stiffened to attention as he moved his palm against her.
Pulling his hand away, he took a step back. “Turn around, bend over and spread your ass cheeks for me.”
Of course, he had every right to inspect her body—his property—as it pleased him. Even so, Ellen was unable to stop her blush as she obeyed. She tried not to jump when he rimmed her asshole with his finger.
After a moment, he gave her ass a dismissive pat. “You pass the inspection. Come to the table. You won’t be using the furniture today. You will kneel on the floor cushion I set out for you, hands behind your back.”
“Yes, Sir.” Ellen straightened and made her way to the table. Was he going to feed her? Or make her eat from a plate on the floor like an animal? She hoped it was the former but she would remain calm and open to whatever her Master had planned for her. As she knelt on the cushion, she saw butter and maple syrup already on the table. Her mouth watered with anticipation.
Master Damon went into the kitchenette. She could hear him washing his hands in the sink. He returned a few moments later with two plates, one holding a stack of waffles, the other piled with crisp bacon. He set these on the table and went back into the kitchen. When he next emerged, he held two mugs of steaming coffee.
He sat in the chair beside Ellen. “I will feed you from my plates,” he informed her. “You will keep your hands behind your back.”
He smeared plenty of butter over the waffles and then poured the maple syrup over them. He used the edge of his fork to cut a piece of waffle. Ellen’s lips parted in anticipation. She was starving.
But, instead of offering her the morsel, he put it in his own mouth. Next, he took a bite of bacon. Without looking at Ellen, he lifted one of the mugs and sipped.
Patience, she reminded herself. He decides. Not you.
Finally, he cut another bite of waffle and held out the laden fork. Ellen eagerly opened her mouth. She nearly moaned aloud with pleasure as she chewed, her taste buds awash in melted butter and real maple syrup.
Lifting the other mug, he held it to her lips. He tilted it carefully, allowing her to sip. He’d added exactly the right amount of cream.
There was something supremely sensual in the way Master Damon fed her. Each time he placed a bite of bacon on her tongue, his fingers would invariably brush her lips or even enter her mouth. She had to resist the urge to suck on them—to close her eyes and moan with pleasure. His expression was alternately tender and stern, as he both nurtured her and controlled her.
They ate in silence until most of the waffles and bacon were gone, their mugs of coffee nearly empty, her appetite fully sated.
“Had enough?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you. It was delicious.”
Lifting his napkin, he patted her mouth and chin. Returning his attention to the remaining food, he finished it off in a couple of big bites. He wiped his own mouth and then turned to her.
“You may rest your hands on your thighs.”
Ellen gratefully brought her hands from behind her back.
